straightened her shoulders and looked at Robin. “The ladder’s inside the barn. To the right of the door. The two of you should be able to manage it.”
Conner turned to Ari. “Is she crazy?” He put the bow back into its stirrup and patted the seat. “Come on, Ari. I’ll take you for a ride.”
Griff’s eyebrows arched as high as an alarmed cat’s back.
Ari tossed her hair over her shoulders and climbed into the passenger seat.
Griff’s hand gripped her jaw. “Don’t be long.”
If Conner heard, he made no sign. He gunned the ATV and charged off, leaving a cloud of blue smoke in its wake.
Squirm waved the smoke away and set off across the field with Robin. He scrunched up his nose. “Wow, those ATVs sure can fart.”
Chapter
Eight
Robin and Squirm trudged through the snowy ruts. It wasn’t far to the barn, but Roimbin kept staring into the trees. A clump of black caught her eye.
“It’s the bear! The mother bear! Look!”
Her breath stopped and she stood still, waiting for it to charge from the woods.
“Where?” Squirm challenged. “I don’t see anything.”
When the clump didn’t move, Robin exhaled and started walking again. She slipped but kept staring behind her. Every patch of black seemed to have eyes and fur. What would she do if it attacked? Run? She’d heard somewhere that you were supposed to lie down and play dead if a bear attacked. She couldn’t imagine doing that. She’d be too afraid. But she’d probably be too afraid to run, so she’d be doomed.
When they finally reached the barn, she hefted one end of the old wooden ladder and Squirm took the other, and they started back across the field. They hadn’t gone far when their dad called to them from the porch of the farmhouse.
“What’s going on?”
“A bear, Dad, a bear!” Squirm shouted. “Conner, the boy next door, he was chasing it, then it fell down the well.”
Robin watched her dad disappear into the house. She scowled. Didn’t he care? Then he reappeared with his medical bag.
“You sure?” he asked, catching up with them. “It should still be hibernating.”
“It’s tiny,” Squirm said.
“It must be.”
When they got to the well where Griff was waiting, their dad peered down it for several moments, frowning. Robin could hear the bear whimpering.
“It’s only a few weeks old, for Pete’s sake!” He looked up and stared into the woods. Creases formed on his forehead. “The mother won’t be far.”
“Conner wanted to kill it. And the mom!” Squirm’s face was full of anguish. “Can we save him, Dad? Can we?”
“Maybe, now that we have a ladder. I’ll go down and pull him up. He can’t be more than ten pounds —”
“But what about his claws?” Robin asked. She’d picked up a stray cat once, and it had ripped long red scratch lines down her bare arm. From what Conner had said, the bear’s claws would be a thousand times more dangerous.
Their father pulled a balaclava and what looked like oven mitts from his bag. “Vets know all about claws….”
Robin grinned. “Smart, very smart.”
He pulled on the balaclava. “If you think the baby’s claws are scary, think about the mother’s! They’ll be longer than your fingers. And sharp enough to tear your face off in a single swipe.”
“Whoa!” Squirm said. “I’m glad it’s you going down there and not me!”
“Once I get him, he’s going right back to the wild,” their dad said, shoving his hands into the thick mitts. “We’re not taking in any baby bears.” He squinted into the fields. “We don’t want to get his mother’s nose out of joint. Mother bears can get nasty. Very nasty.”
Robin cringed but helped the others lift the ladder into the well.
She watched her father descend. The further he went, the harder it was to see him, but as she strained over the stone lip of the well, she watched him scoop up the cub. He cradled it under one arm and climbed back up, then sat on the side of the well. The
Conner turned to Ari. “Is she crazy?” He put the bow back into its stirrup and patted the seat. “Come on, Ari. I’ll take you for a ride.”
Griff’s eyebrows arched as high as an alarmed cat’s back.
Ari tossed her hair over her shoulders and climbed into the passenger seat.
Griff’s hand gripped her jaw. “Don’t be long.”
If Conner heard, he made no sign. He gunned the ATV and charged off, leaving a cloud of blue smoke in its wake.
Squirm waved the smoke away and set off across the field with Robin. He scrunched up his nose. “Wow, those ATVs sure can fart.”
Chapter
Eight
Robin and Squirm trudged through the snowy ruts. It wasn’t far to the barn, but Roimbin kept staring into the trees. A clump of black caught her eye.
“It’s the bear! The mother bear! Look!”
Her breath stopped and she stood still, waiting for it to charge from the woods.
“Where?” Squirm challenged. “I don’t see anything.”
When the clump didn’t move, Robin exhaled and started walking again. She slipped but kept staring behind her. Every patch of black seemed to have eyes and fur. What would she do if it attacked? Run? She’d heard somewhere that you were supposed to lie down and play dead if a bear attacked. She couldn’t imagine doing that. She’d be too afraid. But she’d probably be too afraid to run, so she’d be doomed.
When they finally reached the barn, she hefted one end of the old wooden ladder and Squirm took the other, and they started back across the field. They hadn’t gone far when their dad called to them from the porch of the farmhouse.
“What’s going on?”
“A bear, Dad, a bear!” Squirm shouted. “Conner, the boy next door, he was chasing it, then it fell down the well.”
Robin watched her dad disappear into the house. She scowled. Didn’t he care? Then he reappeared with his medical bag.
“You sure?” he asked, catching up with them. “It should still be hibernating.”
“It’s tiny,” Squirm said.
“It must be.”
When they got to the well where Griff was waiting, their dad peered down it for several moments, frowning. Robin could hear the bear whimpering.
“It’s only a few weeks old, for Pete’s sake!” He looked up and stared into the woods. Creases formed on his forehead. “The mother won’t be far.”
“Conner wanted to kill it. And the mom!” Squirm’s face was full of anguish. “Can we save him, Dad? Can we?”
“Maybe, now that we have a ladder. I’ll go down and pull him up. He can’t be more than ten pounds —”
“But what about his claws?” Robin asked. She’d picked up a stray cat once, and it had ripped long red scratch lines down her bare arm. From what Conner had said, the bear’s claws would be a thousand times more dangerous.
Their father pulled a balaclava and what looked like oven mitts from his bag. “Vets know all about claws….”
Robin grinned. “Smart, very smart.”
He pulled on the balaclava. “If you think the baby’s claws are scary, think about the mother’s! They’ll be longer than your fingers. And sharp enough to tear your face off in a single swipe.”
“Whoa!” Squirm said. “I’m glad it’s you going down there and not me!”
“Once I get him, he’s going right back to the wild,” their dad said, shoving his hands into the thick mitts. “We’re not taking in any baby bears.” He squinted into the fields. “We don’t want to get his mother’s nose out of joint. Mother bears can get nasty. Very nasty.”
Robin cringed but helped the others lift the ladder into the well.
She watched her father descend. The further he went, the harder it was to see him, but as she strained over the stone lip of the well, she watched him scoop up the cub. He cradled it under one arm and climbed back up, then sat on the side of the well. The
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